"I fear my stomach wouldn't tolerate it," he admitted. "It's used to deprivation."
"You spoke of being overwhelmed. I had wondered if your mind were blocked and you couldn't access your powers."
"A... little."
Sympathy flashed in blues across her features. "That's to be expected, following a severe psychic assault, such as what occurred with the demon."
Lucien looked away, the teacup rattling as he set it down, memory assaulting him for a brief second. "I barely remember it."
Ianthe pushed back her chair and stood, those skirts swishing around her ankles as she circled the table. Her fingertips rested on his shoulder, instantly affirming the bond between them. It was stronger today, knotted tightly around the two of them; a result, no doubt, of their carnal relations. "I could help you, if you wished it—"
"No." He could deal with it himself. He just needed time.
"Lucien, I could see your aura bleeding all over the place that day in the Grosvenor Hotel, after the demon savaged you. That you've managed to heal it to this degree in such a short time as twelve months is incredible, but it's entirely possible that you won't be able to manage more on your own, or without long periods of calming meditation, and unfortunately, we don't have such time up our sleeves. There's a sorcerer I know, a man who can heal maladies of the mind to some extent. Or, perhaps Drake could—"
"I'll think about it."
She released an exasperated sigh. "I should think you would be inclined to pursue every avenue, considering that prophecy has predicted your death."
"I said I would consider it, and the prophecy wasn't so specific, I noticed," he replied, pouring himself more tea. "It predicted only that my death would be part of the relics spell, if it were to succeed. Not that it was a definite. Considering everything that occurred yesterday, I'm surprised that that is the line of questioning you've chosen to pursue."
Dark eyelashes lowered. She was hiding something, and he had a sudden gut-wrenching suspicion that he knew what it was.
"Did you know about it? About Bishop?"
"I knew."
His nostrils flared. "And you didn't think to mention it: Oh, by the way, you have a brother."
He'd spent half the night brewing on the subject, and he was angry now. The Prime had pushed and pulled him throughout his life, like a pawn on a chessboard. He'd been the one to decide if Lucien should be in his life, and he'd been the one who'd thought both brothers should not know each other. The teapot clattered against the table as he set it down rather abruptly.
A brother. Hell. A stranger. How many times had he watched other children playing nearby and wished that he could join them, when Lord Rathbourne decreed that he attend his studies instead. He wouldn't have been so bloody lonely if he'd known that there was someone else out there, someone just like him. It would have been easier to cope with the truth when he realized that he was the Prime's bastard son, not Lord Rathbourne's, and that the Prime wished nothing to do with him.
"I'm sorry. I didn't realize… It wasn't… I've had so much on my mind of late, that it didn't occur to me."
"It feels like my entire life has been a lie, Miss Martin." What else didn't he know? "And every time I uncover a little piece of the truth, it unlocks a dozen more strands. My reality, as I know it, is unraveling. I stand on shifting sands every day, with not a single ally, nor anyone who truly gives a damn about me."
"Your father—"
"Sentenced me to this life. Don't use that word for him. He is not a father. His debt to me ended the moment he spilled his seed, and I won't forget that. If you think for one second that I would allow him to help me with this... God." Turning away, he fought hard to bring his emotions under control. "What else are you keeping from me?"
She made a choked sound in her throat. "I–I–"
He made a slashing motion with his hand. "Forget it." This was what came of letting her get under his skin. When he'd seen her swollen eyes, he'd begun to care. When she laid her hand upon his shoulder as if to offer comfort, he'd begun to forget she was the Prime's tool first and foremost. A lie. It was all a lie, and he couldn't forget it again. "The enemy of my enemy is my friend," he told her. "That is all we can be."
"I'm so sorry, Lucien—"
Heavy footsteps thundered down the stairs, and then a young woman appeared, her pale cheeks flushed with youth and her hazel eyes gleaming. "You're back! I didn't even hear you return. I did it, Ianthe! I froze my cup of tea!" Holding said cup upside down, she shook it firmly, then seemed to realize that Lucien was sitting there.
Miss Martin somehow appeared perfectly serene, as though their argument hadn't occurred. However, she couldn't quite hide the brittleness in her voice when she said: "Lucien, this is my apprentice, Miss Thea Davies. Thea, this is Lucien Devereaux, the Earl of Rathbourne, who is serving as my current Shield."
Thea's eyes widened. She bobbed a curtsy. "My lord. How do you do?"
"A pleasure to meet you," Lucien greeted.
Miss Martin gestured to a chair beside her for the young woman as she returned to her own. "Excellent progress, considering the fact that you were only supposed to be studying your books while I was gone and not using sorcery."
Thea's smile died. "I was careful."
